


sun and flower

by zaritarazi



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: DCCW Rare Pair Swap, F/F, Fluff, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Charlie, Other, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 20:04:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaritarazi/pseuds/zaritarazi
Summary: "Charlie/zari kissing or sitting in a field making flower crowns"Being pregnant is like, being exhausted all the time, and then there's Charlie, playing the ukulele, badly, but she's your Baby Mama and you love her more than anything, so. Maybe it's a nice afternoon.





	sun and flower

“Just admit it,” Zari says, turning her head in Charlie’s direction, arm folded over her forehead. “You’re not actually good at music.”

Zari knows that, at some point, Charlie had laid out a blanket for them, and that it had been shady, and she, getting very familiar with the pressing exhaustion of a new and tiny human shapeshifter in her uterus, had said, “Perfect,” and laid flat down on her back. 

Things kind of blended together after that, she knows Charlie had pushed the hair out of her face as they lay together, Charlie yelling at some birds that got too close. Or other people? Charlie was known to be indiscriminate in her shouting.

Zari wrinkles her nose, feeling out midday memories. The park had been crowded, reasonably so for a nice day, and Charlie had put down the blanket and had said, “Don’t worry, Z. I’ll make space for us.” 

“Please don’t kick anyone this time,” Zari had said, deadpan and studying the patterns on the blanket. “Where’d you get that?”

“Linen Closet,” Charlie had replied. “Ray likes big quilts and he keeps them tidy.”

Zari had tilted her head. “So is this like, an antique?” 

Charlie had brushed it off. “You didn’t specify, so.” She had smoothed the wrinkles out with her hands, patting the blanket and grinning in the most corny, shameless way. “This seemed normal human enough to me.”

“Never, with you,” Zari had said, and she’d leaned in to kiss Charlie before settling, Charlie spreading her hand over Zari’s bump and Zari sighing in response.

Zari had already considered herself something of a champion nap queen, but being pregnant is… A lot.

They hadn’t gone out today, either, before this little picnic. Not like they’d spent the morning wandering around DC like Sara and Ava did, or feeding the birds at sunrise with Mona. Charlie’s idle suggestion that they could get some fresh air and Zari shrugging and suggesting the park. A park. Any park. They’d picked one a little too close to her parents, and Zari hadn’t been quite sure how that could be explained, should they run into each other, but that seemed like a far-away problem for a future Zari.

“It’s weird,” Zari had said, on the precipice of an afternoon nap. “I’m both nine years old and also thirty three, and also I’m baby but also… having… a baby?”

“Shit’s wild,” Charlie had replied, and Zari recalls the soft, sleepy grin she’d given at that answer. Zari had forgotten when she’d started listening to Charlie more- If she could’ve remembered, she would’ve stopped herself- But Charlie had an ease to her that Zari let in, a levity that made it so much easier for her to just close her eyes and drift into a light sleep.

And between that nap and now, Charlie had pulled out Zari’s ukulele, and begun trying to play. The first couple of attempts had been just annoying enough to stir Zari awake, and now, on the third or fourth, she’s just kind of finding it funny.

“What are you trying to _do_?” Zari asks, smoothing over the space where Charlie had pointedly ignored her. “It’s a ukulele. Didn’t you say you invented music or something?”

“I invented _good _music,” Charlie says, mouth a pretty frown as she makes another attempt at tuning. “This thing’s rubbish. It’s offensive that I’m even holding it.”

“You think your music is good?” Zari asks.

“Got me in your pants, didn’t it?” Charlie asks, pausing only to grace Zari with the raise of her eyebrows. 

“You’re full of it,” Zari says. 

Charlie lowers her gaze to Zari’s bump. “Looks the other way to me, love.”

“Oh my God,” Zari says, moving more than she has in hours to shove at Charlie’s shoulder. “You’re gross.”

“Is that all?” Charlie asks, and the next string she plucks is done so wrong that Zari feels it in her teeth.

“Okay,” Zari says, half in a grunt as she pushes up on her hands, taking a snail’s pace to the process of sitting up. “Give me that.”

“I am a _professional _musician,” Charlie says, turning the ukulele away from Zari and closer to her chest. “I _made _punk. I _defined _it.”

“And are you trying to play punk on the ukulele?” Zari asks.

Charlie scoffs at that, and responds, “The stupid thing is broken, clearly.” She fidgets another moment before adding, “I can’t even tune it.”

“It’s four chords,” Zari says. She stretches out her hand, receiving the ukulele with a huff from Charlie. “Don’t pout.”

“I’m not pouting,” Charlie says, doing exactly that.

“You just had to ask me to show you,” Zari says, trying to fix whatever Charlie’s done to the strings. It’s wildly out of tune, gently against her bump as she plays with the chords. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Charlie takes the offer as an excuse to move in, her face inches before Zari’s own with a sudden, playful quickness. “You’re smug.”

Zari allows herself a peek, away from the strings and towards Charlie’s gaze. She feels a little patter in her chest. Or maybe it’s just the little one kicking. “I’m just saying.”

Charlie responds with a hand over Zari’s bump, a steady touch with the small, stroking motion of her thumb. “Don’t trust me to sing lullabies, then?”

It’s a tease, but the thought of it kind of makes Zari hurt, an ache if the question had been posed in reverse. “That’s not it at all.” She nips at her lower lip, before decidedly moving her hand away from the strings of the ukulele. Her fingers grace Charlie’s cheekbone, the line of her hair, stroking behind her ear. “I- You could sing, and I’d play.”

She notices the way that Charlie leans into her touch, feels it more intensely than her thoughts really register. “Like a little traveling band?” Charlie asks, eyes fluttering as Zari’s fingers rub against the back of her neck. “We can teach the baby how to play the triangle.”

“Perfect,” Zari says, half sarcastic but mostly flirtatious. “We’ll be ready to go.”

“We could make a couple more band members on the way.” Charlie positions her other hand on the bump, so she can properly cradle the little one in her grasp. “We’ll need a drummer, maybe. Another singer.”

“Ah,” Zari says, nodding at her. “You want a whole act.”

“I just like knocking you up,” Charlie says, the curve of her lips speaking only of mischief. “Is that so wrong?”

Zari responds with the long-awaited motion of pulling Charlie in for a kiss, keeping her hand firmly in place, practically pulling Charlie into her lap.

Her fingers brush the loose coils at the nape of Charlie’s neck, and the goosebumps that prick up under Zari’s fingertips are a reward unto themselves, as is the softness of Charlie’s lips. Charlie delivers a collection of romantic feelings when she kisses, and Zari can feel herself sink into the touch, her lips part for Charlie’s tongue.

Another kick from the little one, and Charlie rubs her fingers against Zari’s bump.

“Just us and our band of babies,” Charlie whispers, taking the time to plant soft kisses on the shell of Zari’s ear. “We can get one of those vans and everything.”

“What kind of van?” Zari asks. She’s not quite sure when she’d put the ukulele down, but there had been a point where she’d needed to make room in her lap for Charlie, and that had mattered more. The holding hand has decided to make a new home on Charlie’s inner thigh, warm with body heat and late afternoon sun. “There’s several.”

Charlie wrinkles her nose. “You know.” She twists her mouth before she speaks, the words coming with a sense of struggle. “The kind- It’s very- Retro. Very American. The long ones? You put your, I don’t know, surfboards and shit on the outside, and you live on the inside.”

“Oh,” Zari says, eyes wide with mock understanding. “So we’re raising our kids in a van.”

“Yes!” Charlie says, expression bright. “The hippy-dippy shit.” 

“How are you going to play punk music if it’s all about free love and peace?” Zari asks. “You’ll be about a decade too early.”

“I invented it once,” Charlie says. “I can push back the date a little.”

“So let me get all of this in order,” Zari says. “We’re going to make this baby, and then a bunch more, and then we’re all going to the 60s to get in a van and invent punk rock.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” Charlie says.

“It would,” Zari says.

Charlie responds by kissing her again, deciding wrap her arms around Zari, cradle the small of Zari’s back in her hands. “It’ll be fun,” Charlie says, and gives her another kiss. “You’ll like it.” The kiss that follows that sentiment lasts a breath longer, their lips moving with the kind of intent to be a little messy, to let the kiss get a little deep. “You can have a little window garden and grow snow peas and shit. You can put flowers in your hair.”

“Wow,” Zari says. “What a tempting argument that is.”

Charlie still grins at her, carless with an abundance of affection. “Just wait,” Charlie says. She pulls back, just to study the tree Zari’s leaning on, the grass where they’ve put their blanket. She reaches past Zari to pluck something behind her, off the blanket’s edge. She profers it with intent, spinning it on its fuzzy green stem. “See?”

Zari studies the flurry of yellow petals and says, “A dandelion?”

“Is that what this is?” Charlie asks. She tucks it behind Zari’s ear. “It’s nice. You look pretty.”

“It’s a weed,” Zari says, laughing just enough that it bubbles into her tone.

“Plants are plants,” Charlie says, reaching again and pulling back with a fistful of them. She places one in between the strands of Zari’s hair, then another a bit further down, decorating her with an array of yellow flowers. “See? Perfect already. Let’s go get a van.”

Zari feels her nose twitch with the hints of an allergy, a small itch in the back of her throat. “You’re going to make me sneeze.”

“Aw,” Charlie says. “I love you, too.”

Zari sneezes before they can kiss, nearly head-butting Charlie in the process. Charlie can only grin in response, pressing the length of her index finger under Zari’s nose. 

“You meant it literally,” Charlie says.

“Yeah,” Zari says. “Obviously.” She bats at Charlie’s hand. “I love you too, idiot.”

Charlie sweeps her fingers across Zari’s temples, tugging her hair and dandelion bits back as she holds Zari’s head in her hands. “Idiot,” she repeats, and Zari meets her more than halfway to kiss.


End file.
